


Lovers on the Sun

by newmoons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cheating, F/F, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 20:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21203993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newmoons/pseuds/newmoons





	Lovers on the Sun

I open my eyes to filtered light draping over black tresses falling on my pillow. The morning rays fall over the skin those monsters made you, but warm beneath the sheets you chose.

I always wondered what you’d look like sleeping, when your guard was down and you weren’t Widowmaker anymore but something closer to Amélie. I was right to assume beautiful. The breath in my chest freezes and I want to reach out and touch you, but you’re not my dream, and I am not welcome in such an intimate way.

The memories hit me and I wonder how you can be so soft when the night before you had destroyed me, your mouth and fingers a winning war against my senses. Your eyes had caught mine and I saw nothing but lightning, burning so bright I couldn’t look away— I didn’t want to.

The air is heavy here before you wake up, as if we don’t belong here. And I guess we don’t— we don’t, we don’t. But that didn’t stop you from returning; you appeared at my window with a calm kind of confidence. I can see why now— you got exactly what you wanted, and played it all a part of plan. Does this make you happy?

I shift and you don’t move. I’m glad for the moment— I’m not sure how to approach you yet. But I stand from the bed on legs that had spent hours shaking under your sure touch, and I blush at the memory as I look down at my naked form. Your kiss still lingers and I wonder how there aren’t bruises where your lips touched. Had you not ravaged me?

How kind of you to preserve who I was before last night. With a name like yours, I assumed possession was without question, but I stretch in the mirror hanging off my door and I see nothing that leaves your mark. And then I see you again, and I turn my shoulder to look over at your peaceful slumber. You don’t seem to be the woman I know, of destruction and death. Even villains need to sleep, I guess.

I open the door as quietly as I can to keep your peace and pad to the kitchen as softly as possible, pulling out two mugs for the both of us. It’s funny, really; as if we are two normal people in some semblance of a relationship. But we are so far from that. You’re my nemesis, and you’ve tried to kill me many times. But you’re also in my bed, and you’re breathy gasps fill my ears as I flick the stove on to start a kettle for morning tea. I make you coffee and pretend I can’t hear your moans in my ear and see the narrowed eyes of your lust-won stare.

But I can.

I close my eyes and exhale; my hands are shaking. What have I done? I’m pretending there’s something normal here with my back turned to the glaring opposition that is my offense.

Emily.

I inhale this time, but it’s a shaky thing and I can’t swallow it. She’ll be devastated. Destroyed. Left in the ruins I should be in now, but all I can find is comfort in the thought of you still in my bed. I wonder what she’ll say, I wonder if I’ll see a look in her eye I’ve never seen before. I never thought that one day we’d be ending.

The whistle of the kettle brings me to my senses. I pour the water into my favorite ceramic cup— I’ll need the comfort when you leave and before she returns— before starting on your drink. I watch the steam from my cup as I wait for the beans for yours to grind. The coffee maker Emily brought with her is silent enough not to wake you— not to wake me, when she‘s up before me to make our breakfast. I swallow again as I move the grinds to the French press— hers, too. Everything in this room has her touch. Everything except my bed a few dozen feet backwards. Now that’s yours. Ours, even.

The thought turns my stomach. I can’t decide whether good or bad. But I don’t have time to think on it, because your drink is done and mine is getting cold and I wonder, I wonder, I wonder if this is an anecdote for the rest of whatever we have. Will I always be chasing someone so evasive, so untouchable until the moment you want to be mine for the night? Again I am swept under anxiety and my arms tingle with unwanted electricity— different from yours, not magnetic but invasive.

And then I turn and I’m holding both our cups and I push open the door with my foot and you’re sitting there; your golden eyes are warm but they’re still guarded, there’s still something keeping you from me, and I realize; I was right. You will always be however far you want to first, and mine second, if that. I smile weakly at you, but there’s something real there for me. I approach you with a softness I don’t remember giving permission, and hand you your coffee. I assumed black. You take a sip. You don’t complain.

“Good morning,” I greet. You have a smirk on your lips and I know you’re remembering, recalling in plain sharpness my vulnerability in please. You seem to be amused, and I wonder what you’re thinking. You’re always so guarded, so cryptic, and for that I can’t hope to see your thoughts. I know but one thing about you, that your husband was taken from you in the worst way imaginable— where your name came from. That you were tortured by Talon and made into a creature of horrific design for their twisted plans. And now your thoughts are gone. But who you gave them to, I’ll never know. Who was before me?

I wonder what he meant to you. I wonder who Amélie was as a lover, and how he held you and how you moved beneath his hands and if he pleased you better than I did. I find myself gritting my teeth at the thoughts, force myself to remember I am not yours and you are not mine and we can sit here for as long as we want but that won’t change. You don’t want me the same way, do you?

But you stayed. That challenges anything else I know, that as deadly as you are— and that you could have gotten what you wanted and killed me in one night— you woke up in my bed and showed me a side of you that you didn’t have to. That vulnerability warms what was cold in my chest as I sip at my tea, waiting for words to bubble to my lips in that familiar puppy-like way that you taunt me for.

Taunt me. Like you had last night under your tongue and hands flat against my tensed thighs. Taunt me like you did as you sat above me, always looking down, always, always, always, as if down the scope of your gun, in that same condescending manner that clenched in the depth of my core and shook me wholly. You would always win. I saw that then, and I see it now, in the same way you look at me.

I look away. “What, ma chère? The cat has your tongue now?” You ask, and you’re leaning so cool against my wall that I can’t seem to look you in the eye. “It didn’t last night,” you continue with obvious satisfaction when I can’t reply, and I blush and cut my trifled stare to your amused one. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

“Can’t say it does,” I finally reply. “Just too early without a cuppa. You’re welcome, by the way,” I sniffed at your own drink. You thank me almost sarcastically. I roll my eyes. This is truly something we will regret, isn’t it? I can’t imagine the development of such static. Not the way Emily is, not so kind and open and loving and everything you cannot be, simply cannot be—

“Did you enjoy yourself, ma chère?” You ask, and this time you’re leaning forward and trying to look at me and your eyes are so much like molten gold that I can’t breathe— “Yes,” I spluttered. And it’s true. I’ve never been touched the way you undid me, and the electricity that rings through me like a ricochet bullet sends a tension between my legs. How did you do it, again?

You smirk and you’re back again, no longer soft with anticipation that maybe, maybe you had hurt me. Did that scare you? Maybe I was wrong. I can smile now, but I know it’s a long shot. Let me have this, will you? I nod after your silence and sip again. Is this what we will be? I can’t say I mind it. You keep me on my toes.

Where will you go? I look out the window and remember how you had appeared: the soft clink of your hook shot and the softer taps of your feet as you caught yourself on the landing. You had appeared so swiftly, as if you knew when she left, as if you’d been watching, as if you’d been waiting. Well, maybe you had. If you had seen the softness she left with, is that why you came with such power? I shudder at the memory. We can’t go there today.

Does that mean I’m willing to go there another day? I know I can’t speak this to you— I know you don’t care, maybe I can even say you don’t care yet, or that you can’t… you can’t. It’s not as if we can do anything now: my defenses fell last night, and what can we do now? I had sighed your name and rolled beneath your lips and spread my legs for better access, hadn’t I?

Well, she would know soon enough.

You’re lounging now and I can’t seem to remember that I shouldn’t find the sight so easy, so comfortable, so right in my bed. I do, and it destroys me. I try to pull myself together in your presence, but what’s the use? What more do you need to see to take me down? Not that you would— I hope not now. Not now.

But what can I know? When you sweep out of here the same way you came— god, will you be the same way you came when I am so changed?— and disappear, will you come back? Do I want you to? Oh, God, I want you to, I want you to—

You look right through me. I know no matter where you go, I will follow like it is my mission. In some ways, it is. No, in all the ways it should be, it is my mission. How can I ignore that now? I try not to look at you when you realize this— if you realize this— because your mission is the same. No, never mind. Your mission is worse. You are sent to kill, while I am sent to capture. You have everything to lose— whoever you are now.

I never expected to be so soft with you, yet I woke up with my arms holding your body dangerously close to mine. You weren’t cold like when you swept into my room from the window— like the night we met and you pinned me beneath you and I couldn’t stop thinking about it until it happened again in my bed— but rather my sheets had given you their warmth. I wonder where you sleep now, and if you’re ever warm there. Do you feel the difference here in my arms?

Luck be damned, I will have you here again. I want to be your sanction against those who have turned against you and into you, and you into. You are heavy in my sheets but I know I will never be weighed down; I will rise each morning and make you coffee— if you’ll stay, if you’ll stay.

Cry, cry wolf, you don’t know what this howling will do, but I will be your moon.


End file.
